


Hidden Guardian

by oly_chic



Series: Lost Guardian of Kaon [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Doorwings, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Earth Transformers, Pre-Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: While researching Kaon-based frames, Prowl finds a rare frame with doorwing sensor capabilities exceeding that of a Praxian. He’s never seen a frame like it, but thereissomething awfully familiar about it.





	Hidden Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Transformers.
> 
> Thanks to dragonofdispair for beta reading!

Prowl walked slowly to his office, trying to not give away how his rolling tanks were threatening to purge any breem. His actual injuries - the acute pain from his scorched plating, and the throbbing pain of his fingers gripping his blaster too tight throughout the battle - weren’t as urgent as his overwhelming nausea.

He was vaguely relieved to reach his office without being challenged by anyone else in the halls. He kept his composure and waited at his waste receptacle for his door to finish closing completely. As soon as he heard the sound of door colliding with the frame he dropped to his knees and purged. The vomit came in bursts, at least three times before a wave of dizziness hit him and clouded his vision as the purging fuel kept coming.

When it finally stopped, he grabbed a cleaning cloth and wiped away the energon that had spilled outside his trash can. He would need to dispose of the purged fuel discreetly, so no one would know his weakness. His position as the latest transferred junior tactician didn’t hold much weight in the optics of the frontliners. While he’d been here for nearly ten mega-orns, most of the soldiers considered him too new to understand them. For now, he hid the can behind his desk.

He waited until his frame settled down before sitting in his chair to resume the work he’d been doing before the battle alarm blasted.

Try as he might, though, he was plagued by images of Decepticons fighting their forces, the smells of burnt frames around him. Frames collapsed around him, gurgling on bubbling energon as they laid dying on Cybertron’s broken roads. The battle had been the Pit for him, and while he was no hardened veteran, he was not new to this war.

Then again, some might consider him new to combat. He didn't have much experience with being on the frontlines.

From his battle position he had recognized the Decepticons as mostly Kaonite frames. Kaonites were often Decepticons. Mechs said even Megatron was from the city-state, although Prowl wasn’t sure if he was originally from there and ended up in Kaon. Ex-venting slowly, Prowl thought about how if he were any type of a tactician he would study up on Kaonite frames to figure out the most common weaknesses. Before the war, Kaon had a diverse population of immigrants from all over Cybertron, but the frames were primarily gladiators, industrial workers, and high class mechs known as “masters.”

He should be doing post battle reports, but the images, gurgling noises, and smells were so fresh that his tanks rolled at the mere thought of focusing on the battle. Instead, he gave his mind a chance to recover by diving into a different tactical plan. One without upsetting associations.

Prowl minimized his previous mission preparation work on his terminal to search through the Autobots’ databanks on Kaonite frames. The computer generated a list with all the city-state specific frames associated with Kaon. He read through the list. He wanted to start with something that would benefit his strategies, maybe there was a way to get the computer to prioritize the list by the most common…

Wait – Kaon Winged Sentry frame? What was that? While Vos and Praxus were the best city-states known for wing-based frames, almost every city-state had tried to conceptualize and build a similar frames. Praxus and Vos were famous because they had the perfected it, in Prowl’s opinion. The other city-states could not produce the same sensory network.

He wondered what Kaon’s attempt at a wing-based frame had produced. Choosing to follow his piqued curiosity instead of investigating a known Decepticon frame, Prowl clicked on the link. Text and the associated images of root and alt modes filled his screen, and Prowl had to cycle his optics in surprise. There was something familiar about those images. The alt mode picture was clearly a slim race car with a rectangular spoiler, while the root mode was a lithe form with small doorwings. The doorwing wasn’t straight and flat on the inside like a Praxian’s. It looked like there were two panels sweeping upward at different angles, suggesting there was a hinge in the middle that bent like an elbow. If there was any heaviness to the form, it was in the chassis, and it wasn’t any bulkier than a standard Iaconian frame. Why was this image so familiar?

After a few kliks of trying to pin down that familiarity, Prowl decided to read the text. This frame’s purpose was to use their extremely sensitive doorwings and serve as an early warning system of impending danger or discovery to the masters, gladiators, and industrial frames in dangerous jobs.

Prowl paused at that. This frame had an extreme sensitivity for doorwings? Were they more sensitive than Praxian doorwings? That couldn’t be possible. Granted, that quandary wasn’t exactly on point with his current task, but as a Praxian he had to know. Unfortunately, there was no information comparing Vosian and Praxian to this Kaon Sentry frame. It only explained that they were sensitive to almost all vibrations and frequencies, especially communication frequencies. Their doorwings were so hyper sensitive some didn’t rely on their optics beyond the absolute necessary. In fact, after continuing to read, he found that some Sentries preferred to wear visors to limit their optical feeds.

The tactician understood having doorwing senses that made vision pale in comparison, but the documentation implied an optical feed was considered a nuisance to many Sentries. Their doorwings were that advance. Prowl finished reading, then stared at the images a little longer, but for the life of him he couldn’t put a face to the memories struggling to surface. He had seen this frame somewhere before, but he didn’t know anyone from Kaon, did he?

A request for entry interrupted his pondering. He pinged the door’s lock so it would open, and turned his attention to his guest. Jazz stepped through, his own scorched marks distinct on his white and blue plating. There was metal shavings imbedded in the paint on his left arm and leg, like he’d hit the ground hard. Prowl looked him over before settling his gaze on Jazz’s visor.

Jazz sniffed. “Is that purged energon I smell? Oh Prowl.”

“I’m alright,” the tactician insisted. He never wanted to appear weak, but there was something about risking a breakdown in front of Jazz that scared him. Prowl wanted to always appear strong in front of the mech.

“It’s okay to be affected by this war. Even Ironhide has his moments.” Jazz smiled sadly.

“I’m alright,” he repeated. Never mind the smell of purged energon, which was suddenly almost overwhelming. It was the smell of guilt, the smell of weakness. It was burning his olfactory sensors, and even his doorwings were picking up the free floating particles from the stench.

“I’m sure you are, but you know you can talk to me whenever, right? I’ve seen you get better at handling battle during these last mega-orns, and I hope you know you’re more than another tactician on base to me.”

Prowl nodded and he swallowed, although this time it had nothing to do with regurgitating fuel.

“Now,” Jazz said, rubbing his hands together, “how about I get rid of that waste while you get some of your reports ready for us to finish up? We were going to start on those Shockwave territory reports before that cursed alarm went off, if I’m remembering right.”

“You are recalling our plans correctly and I should do it.” The thought of Jazz covering for him disgusted him. “How about you use my terminal to download the data for our review, and I get rid of the waste?”

“Works for me.”

Prowl grabbed the bin and left swiftly, not wanting Jazz to smell it when he passed. More occupied on the smell than on what he’d left up on his terminal, he didn’t think about Jazz finding his Kaon investigation. There was nothing on the terminal Jazz didn’t have clearance to access.

When he returned Jazz was in Prowl’s seat – something not entirely abnormal - and if he were any good at reading facial expressions he might have called Jazz’s expression “stunned.” That was definitely not normal.

“Is something wrong?” Prowl asked.

Jazz shook his entire body, as if snapping himself out of a trace. “No, of course not. Let’s get to these reports.” He quickly got up, out of the chair and danced around the desk to sit in the visitor’s chair.

Prowl tried to dismiss Jazz’s odd behavior as he took his seat and began pulling up the relevant reports on Shockwave’s territory expansion, but he kept noticing Jazz twitching with unease. He wanted to leave it alone, but he had to ask again, “Is something the matter?”

“What? No, why do you ask?”

“You seem nervous.”

“Just still high off of the battle, I suppose,” Jazz laughed anxiously. He started fidgeting with his visor. Prowl was about to point out this skittishness was a recent development, when Jazz abruptly asked, “Why were you looking up Kaonite frames?”

Unsure why this would make Jazz nervous, Prowl nevertheless explained. “I noticed that many of the attacking Decepticons had Kaonite frames, and probably more were from Kaon. I thought that maybe if I familiarized myself with the Kaon-specific frames I might be able to develop a strategy that capitalizes on any weakness.”

If anything, that statement made Jazz more nervous. “But why _that_ frame? Why were you looking at the Kaon Winged Sentry frame?”

Prowl frowned. “Curiosity? Are you curious as well?”

Jazz laughed, a little bit of shakiness to his voice. “Nah, it’s all good. Let’s get back to work.”

Prowl accepted the topic change and thought nothing of it. If Jazz didn’t want to tell him anything, that was his choice.

 

|||||

 

The following shift, Prowl started late. His post-battle medical check left his sensors twitching as he was probed for any damage hidden beneath his plating. His doorwings were the worst of the lingering aches from the medical probing, but over stimulated doorwings wasn't uncommon for the Praxian. The penetrating cracks on his fingers would interfere with his work more.

Despite his lateness, he resumed his routine as if he were on time, beginning with bringing his terminal out of sleep mode. The first thing he checked was what he’d left open on his terminal, and if it needed to be addressed or if it could be closed out. As soon as he uploaded the calculation to his tac-net over success rates on the next six Special Ops missions, he closed out that first window. He noticed the Kaon frame information had remained open behind that window, still displaying the Sentry page. With his doorwings pinging his processor with their unhappiness, he couldn’t help but wonder what “hypersensitivity” meant for the Sentry. Normally Prowl would dive into his work, but with his tac-net busy and the nagging curiosity, he chose to follow that thread of thought.

Digging through the databases for additional data on a single, rare frame was not easy. There wasn’t much once he had everything. As far as he could tell, the proclaimed hypersensitivity exceeded both Vosian and Praxian frames because of the sentry’s need to gather data quickly so their processors could detect a wide range of threats early. Vosians and Praxians did have some early threat detection capabilities, but their very purpose did not depend on them.

Some of the evidence included a system net that was denser with sensors on the Sentry than the other two, more common frames, and it contained superconductive materials that allowed signals to transmit faster. Sensor crystals were imported from the Vos or Praxus, depending on availability and export controls. There was something about a crystal enhancement technique being utilized, but whatever it was, the article writer did not elaborate. It was probably proprietary, just like the Praxian designs. He didn’t quite believe such a technique existed anyways. How could any other city-state have a better doorwing sensory system building technique than Praxus?

As his tac-net warned him that it was nearing completion of its calculations, Prowl found an image dump database. Most of the images were labeled by only city-state or the battle fields it was taken at, and the dates. Finding a rare Kaonite frame in an assortment of battle field images probably wouldn’t have a high success rate. The Kaon-marked ones interested him, though. Now that he knew about the Sentry frame, he looked at every picture of the gladiators, masters, and industrials in the database to see if he could find the Sentry’s watching shadow. Once he knew what he was looking at, he found them in many of the images.

The Sentries were beautiful, even in the background. At least Prowl thought so. Although their doorwings were small, they were poised. The midway hinge allowed their doorwings to take all sorts of positions with upward angles, and watching them flow through their scanning motions in the videos was captivating.

Scrolling through the images, Prowl finally found an image that was more than a suggestion of a mech in the background, and he gasped. This Sentry had a green visor, shaped similar to Jazz’s. His frame was roughly the same size and shape as Jazz. If it weren’t for the spoiler being tilted higher, and unusual green paint job, he might have thought it was Jazz.

Prowl pushed his hand against his desk, scooting himself backwards. There was no way that Jazz was a Sentry. He made references to Iacon when talking about his pre-war orns. Was it a cover story? Not to mention he had no doorwings! Or did he? Prowl’s optical ridges furrowed, thinking about Jazz’s doors. He realized he had never seen Jazz’s doors in root mode. Where were they hiding?

Prowl ignored the pinging of his tac-net, finally finishing the calculations he’d given it; he was too engrossed in possibly discovering one of his Special Ops counterpart’s secrets. Jazz had been notably rattled in their last conversation about Prowl’s investigation into the Sentries. He needed to know if he was on the right path, but how?

A klik later he was interrupted. Like last time, it was Jazz, but at least now he was cleaned up. This time Prowl had to practically bite his glossa so he wouldn’t blurt out his theory, and ask if he was right. If Jazz hadn’t said anything last time, he likely wanted it to be a secret. Were they friends enough for Jazz to confide in Prowl? The tactician wanted to believe so, but he knew that was largely in his helm. It was more likely Jazz would leave.

When Prowl didn’t speak first, Jazz asked, “How are you doing? Medical checkup go okay?”

Prowl was relieved to have something else to talk about. “It went fairly well. Some of my doorwing sensors received minor damage, and I managed to crack the plating on my fingertips, but I know I should count myself lucky.”

“Let me see your hands.” Jazz captured Prowl’s hand in one smooth movement and put it on the desk. His black fingers glided over Prowl’s plating, who covertly enjoyed the feel of the other mech’s warm touch against his aching fingers. His frame started to flush, and Prowl focused on calming down so his reaction wouldn’t betray him.

Jazz softly rubbed the invisible cracks. “I’m sorry you’re stationed here. There’s so many battles here; it’s not good for a new tactician.”

“I’m not that new of a tactician,” Prowl protested. “I’m just not used to being this close to the frontlines, and especially a front with such a difficult tactical situation. I’ll adjust, I promise.”

Jazz sighed and slowly released Prowl’s hand. “That’s not a promise I wish you’d have to make. Cooped up, always waiting on the next battle alert. At least I get missions away from base. Sure, most of them are dangerous but every now and then I get an easy one.”

Prowl cast his optics down. Jazz made him think of what he’d witnessed last orn. His nausea returned. He ex-vented slowly, shuttered his optics. When he opened them he spoke slowly, so as not to give away more of his discomfort than he already had. “Speaking of your missions, I believe you were just assigned one to spy on some activity on the fringes of Shockwave’s territory.”

“They seem to put me there pretty often. I mean, not always, but often enough.”

Prowl nodded as he downloaded the report onto a datapad for Jazz to review. Together they worked on refining the mission plan and going over the available information. They finished up and Jazz sighed. “Guess I’ll be missing that play.”

“What play?”

Jazz leaned onto one side of the chair. “It’s called ‘Bright Night’ and it’s being put on by some of the soldiers that were formerly performers.” He smiled, his expression first amused and then melancholy as he continued speaking. “It’s supposed to be an Iacon classic, with some alternative interpretations to match whatever they got available on base. Not much here for entertainers.”

“I see.” Prowl looked intently at his terminal, as if he had spotted an interesting bit of data displayed there. “Were you planning on going with anyone?”

“Just a few friends.”

Prowl offered an empathetic ex-vent and glanced at Jazz. “I’m sorry you’ll be missing your play. I can go on your behalf if you want. Then when you get back I can tell you about it.”

Jazz smiled with his dentae visible. “That’d be awesome. Thanks Prowl. You’re the best.”

Prowl twisted his helm back to the terminal to hide a small smile. Only once the involuntary expression was gone did he look back at Jazz. “No need to thank me. I’m happy to help you at any time. Let me help you now, and get this mission as safe for you as possible.”

“Like I said: you’re the best.”

Before he could deny that, the battle alert sounded. Jazz jumped out of his chair while Prowl pushed out of his. They were gone in a flash.

The battle was not as rough as the last, in terms of Autobot casualties, but this time the Decepticons were battering them with extremely high sonic frequencies. Prowl’s doorwings were in agony. They felt like they were trying to shake themselves apart, even with the sensors turned as far down as he dared. The struggling tactician suspected Soundwave was involved, but if that was true that was for his superiors to act on.

Prowl knew plenty of mechs had sensory nets vulnerable to sonic frequencies, be it doorwings, wings, audial horns, etc. He could see numerous mechs suffering by throwing their helms back, wings shaking, or mechs collapsing and writhing. During his surveillance of the field he saw Jazz was one of those distressed by the sonic attack.

Jazz’s entire frame trembled, while he was struggled to keep a hold of his weapon and not grab his audial horns, and Prowl swore the panels on his upper back were twitching violently, as if something was trying to push through them. Doorwings, Prowl immediately concluded. Folded, trapped doorwings that were being harmed by the same high sonic frequencies. Jazz’s were in greater pain than his own, if Prowl was right about him being a Kaon Winged Sentry frame – and if the articles were true.

Despite wanting to rush to his counterpart’s side and ask him if there was anything he could do, Prowl refocused on the battle. Logically there was nothing; Prowl couldn’t even help himself.  That didn’t stop him from feverishly wanting to do something for Jazz. Prowl promised himself that if both of them were functioning after this battle that he would find a way to help Jazz protect himself from these sorts of attacks.

The promise was short-lived. Prowl was hit in the leg, crippling him so that he couldn’t stand. Collapsing to the grime-covered ground, Prowl tried pulling his doorwings flat so that they wouldn’t be the next target. Whoever had him in sights was good; the mech’s next shot took off his right wing's tip. He cried out from the pain before the world turned black.

 

|||||

 

Whirling machine sounds and beeps told him he was still alive. There was darkness, and not just to his optics. His doorwings were completely blind, one-hundred percent offline. That immediately set him on edge. It reminded him of a time when he was a young mech and he was injured in a pile up. His doorwings had been crumpled up and he had been stuck for joors, scared because he was unable to see or sense anything. His optics snapped open.

"Calm now," a purple-and-white medic soothed, his bulky frame backlit as he leaned over Prowl. There was an impossibly bright red emblem on the medic’s chassis. "You're okay. The battle is over and we're all safe."

Prowl tried calming down but the total sightlessness in his doorwings made his spark skip and his energon pump race. Logically he knew he was safe, here in Medbay with an Autobot medic, but his mind was consumed with panic over the sensory loss; for once he was not interested in logic.

The medic kept speaking but Prowl felt like his audials were submerged in viscous fluid. The medic disappeared, and the light above overwhelmed his optics, whiting out his vision. "Ah!" Prowl cried out. Blind and deaf, completely deprived of all sensory input, Prowl's fear grew exponentially.

A hand grabbed his, soft at first until it gave a firm, reassuring squeeze. A muffled voice floated above the drowning fluid and Prowl gradually recognized it as Jazz's voice. "Jazz?" he gasped.

The voice was still muted and indistinct, but it sounded low and soothing. Jazz, soothing him. His panic receded enough for him to hear Jazz instructing him to in-vent and ex-vent slowly. Concentrating on Jazz, Prowl did as instructed, in-venting as slow as possible, then ex-venting.

"That's good, keep going," Jazz continued to speak in soft tones. Prowl turned to a blurry figure and cycled his optics a few times, refocusing them until he could see the white and blue mech clearly. Battle scars raked his form, but the damage looked mostly superficial.

"Jazz," he whispered.

"That's me, your friendly Jazz. Are you back with me now?"

Still just as quiet, Prowl said, "Yes."

Jazz smiled reassuringly. "Good. I was worried about you for a hot klik. Didn't look like you were onlining well."

"My doorwings," he choked, "they're blind."

Jazz rubbed Prowl's hand with his thumb. "I hear you. It'll be okay."

Prowl wanted to curl up into Jazz's arms. He wouldn't weep; he wasn't that kind of mech. He told himself that any winged soldier could handle this loss. Many did handle doorwing injuries on a semi-regular basis, and even a tactician was a soldier. He needed to act like a soldier, not like a newbuild.

"Assuming they’ll release you, do you want to go back to my quarters?" Jazz offered. "They've got more critical cases to handle, including one of my roomies."

His mouth parted slightly at the possibility of a private moment with Jazz, the thought calming his panic for a moment. "I don't want to be here."

"Then let's see if the medic agrees." Jazz's helm turned so that he could look past Prowl, who turned his helm as well to see the medic from earlier.

The medic nodded. "Prowl, we haven’t replaced the missing part of your doorwing. We took your doorwings’ sensory net offline because of feedback loop issues we usually see with that kind of an injury. It’s just a precaution to avoid further medical complications. If you start to panic again, come here and we’ll handle it."

Jazz's grip tightened briefly. "Got it. Come on Prowl, we'll take this as slow as you need."

Together they slid Prowl off the berth and gently upright. Jazz wrapped an arm around Prowl's lower back and pulled one of Prowl's arms over his shoulder. "No rush. We'll go at your pace."

Prowl walked them slowly out of Medbay before stopping. He chuckled; it was a hollow sound. "I don't know where to go."

"My quarters. I'll guide you there."

"What about your roommates? One's on a mission, one is in Medbay, but what about the other one? I think I can go to my office." Prowl had been in Jazz's quarters before, the last time a little while ago. Although Jazz and Prowl had spent some time together outside of duty, it was uncommon for them to be in Jazz's quarters. His roommates weren't all on the same shift, and they kept odd joors when off-duty.

"Nonsense, you are in no shape to go to your office, and I don't want to leave you alone in your quarters. Besides, 'Quick Stuff' should be at his newest friend's quarters until next shift. He's been there plenty enough lately." Jazz tugged them to the right and Prowl resumed setting the pace.

Jazz had the most clutter of all his roommates, but he kept it in his berth area. Most of it was dirty, like he'd salvaged it. A couple of tiny figurines and a slim decorative bottle lined the single shelf above the bed. Posters were torn and smeared with dirt, like someone had tried cleaning them, and then taped them back together. Prowl once asked about his penchant for salvaging things. Jazz had shrugged and said "why not?" before confessing it was an old habit from an old life.

Prowl noticed one poster was for a gladiator match, incongruous among the musical posters. Although it was not his first time seeing it, it was the first time Prowl looked at it. He didn't recognize the two fighters posing on the opposite sides of the ring, one shades of blue and the other a green/grey mix. There was writing in the corner by the green/grey one, and Prowl realized it was a signed posture to someone named Stepper, but the signer's name was illegible. If Prowl squinted right, he could perhaps make out a winged form in the background, but the faded coloring and other damage made it hard to see more than that.

Jazz helped him onto his berth so Prowl could lie down. Acutely aware of Jazz's helm mere inches away from his chin, Prowl realized this was likely the first time they were this close. They had been in each other's personal spaces before, obviously, but not in this exact position. Jazz still had the smell of battle clinging to him, a slight aroma of spilled energon. Prowl saw none on Jazz's form, but the scent lingered. He wondered what Jazz normally smelled like, and if he'd have the chance to find out.

Prowl tilted his helm to the out of place poster. "Is that a Kaonite gladiator pit?"

"Yeah, from the good ol' orns, I suppose. Or at least it looks like a legal one, back when gladiators weren't so bad off. Come on, you need to lie down." Jazz used his other hand to nudge Prowl downward by his shoulder.

"I need a pillow between my doorwings. When the sensors come back online they will ache from laying on them."

"Got you covered." Jazz left Prowl sitting so he could rearrange several pillows to form a shape that could support doorwings. This time Prowl laid down without issue.

Jazz sat down on the edge, by Prowl's chassis so he could smile down on his visitor. "Do you mind if I sing? You can listen while you settle down."

"You can sing?"

"I can sing." He chuckled softly. "Relax and just listen."

Prowl tried to relax and simply listen. A gradual hum filled Prowl's audials, and old Cybertronian words began as a chant to the same beat. The song was beautiful. Jazz's voice was beautiful. The whole experience could have been beautiful, if it hadn't been a harsh reminder of Prowl's sensory deprivation.

His chassis suddenly heaved. Prowl rolled away from Jazz, burying his face in the berth. He was stronger than this. He was a soldier.

A hand began rubbing his back in slow methodical circles. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong. I'm okay. I'm just..." Prowl trailed off, at a loss for a lie.

“Struggling with the battle again?” Jazz guessed gently.

“Not precisely. Although I was injured, this time the casualty rate was lower. I think this battle was more about damaging sensors, and I have a few suspicions why. It’s possible there’ll be a difficult battle again very shortly, capitalizing on all the sensor damage.” This Prowl could talk calmly about.

“As interesting as that is, I think you’re just hiding behind it. If it’s not this battle getting to you, then is it the sheer amount of battles you’ve had, compared to your previous bases?”

That was an issue for him, another reason he purged an orn ago, but it didn’t weigh on him right this very moment. He shook his helm.

"It's the doorwings, isn't it?"

He almost shook his helm again, but he knew Jazz could always spot a lie. "I'm not used to being so hindered. I've relied on my doorwings for so much, it's like having my optics removed, and my audials shut down."

Jazz's intakes hissed softly in sympathy. "Is there something I can do?"

"If you had doorwings you'd know there's nothing that can be done until the damage is repaired." As soon as he said it he remembered his questions and the Kaon Winged Sentry frame. Should he ask?

"Yeah..." Jazz's hand slowed.

Prowl took a deep in-vent and turned his helm just enough to see Jazz out of the corner of his optic. "Jazz, are you..."

"Am I what?" Jazz prompted when Prowl stopped.

"Are you a Kaon Winged Sentry frame?"

This time when Jazz hissed it was not in sympathy; it sounded more like fear. His expression was guarded. "What's that?"

Prowl twisted closer to Jazz and the other mech's hand dropped away. "I've seen signs that you are that frame model."

"What signs?"

"Conversations, some of your actions in battle, and a few odds and ends." He kept it vague. He didn't want to reveal just how this curiosity had taken over his idle processing power.

Jazz's careful expression morphed into one of distress. "In battle?"

"I saw your back plating twitching from the sonic attack during this last battle."

The secretive mech rocked in his spot and pulled at his fingers nervously. "Was I that obvious?"

Confused about the normally smooth mech's sudden anxiety, Prowl touched Jazz's arm. "I notice things most don't. That's why I'm considered a good tactician."

"Yeah, but you aren't the only good tactician on Cybertron. The Decepticons have several. Like Shockwave!" Jazz jumped up, and started pacing. Prowl wanted to go over and comfort him, but he wasn't sure he could stand by himself without the extra gyroscopic sensors in his doorwings. "I'm supposed to go into his territory soon. What if I'm caught? I may have done plenty of runs around Shockwave's territory, but I haven't been to that particular area much! If I'm caught, they'll take me to Shockwave, I know it. What if he figures out I have doorwings? Worse, what if he figures out my frame model?"

Prowl pulled himself up, and grasped Jazz's hand as he went by. Jazz stopped, but he didn't look at him. Prowl tugged on it until Jazz turned enough that he could hold onto his hands. He held them tight, and waited until the saboteur looked at him. "Jazz, you are an excellent spy. You won't be caught."

"You can't know that."

"I can. I will update my plan to account for your frame type so you can better take advantage of your senses. Between that and your skills, we can decrease your already extremely small chances of being caught."

Jazz squeezed Prowl's hands back. "Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll be fine." He said it a few more times, working on calming himself down. After he started venting normally, he laughed weakly. "I guess my secret's out with you."

"That you're a Kaon Sentry? I promise to never tell." Prowl met Jazz's gaze so the other mech could see his sincerity.

The tension in Jazz's frame released and his shoulders dropped. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Prowl hesitated. He didn't want to push Jazz, but he also wanted to know the answer to his biggest question. "Are the doorwings of a Kaon Winged Sentry more sensitive than a Praxian's?"

"That's what my specs say." Jazz shrugged.

"Can I see them, your wings?"

Jazz looked at Prowl quizzically. "Why? They aren't anything special."

"In the pictures, the Sentries' doorwings are beautiful." Prowl explained. "I'd love to see what yours looks like."

Jazz's chin dipped down and for the first time Prowl saw a shy smile. He squeezed Prowl's hands, then let go. From his look of concentration, Prowl suspected that it'd been a long time since Jazz used this particular transformation sequence.

Silent gears turned. Jazz's white and blue-striped doorwings slowly extended out fully, the tips flaring upward and bent at a different angle than the wider doorwing half. Prowl gasped as he took in the sight. The light hit the angled tips perfectly and Jazz's doorwings shone as if part of a pristine statue. Battle scarred as the rest of his frame was, Jazz's doorwings were perfect.

Prowl stood up and Jazz automatically used the grip of his hands to help steady him. Leaning against Jazz, Prowl ghosted his fingers through the air over Jazz's doorwings, admiring them up close. Jazz shivered, and Prowl realized that even that not-touch was sending strong signals to their owner. He lowered his arm. "Your wings are very lovely. Beautiful and very sensitive."

Jazz looked at the doorwing that Prowl had almost touched. "Very sensitive. You can touch, if you want, just very carefully."

He wanted to touch, but if moving his hands through the air near them was enough to cause Jazz to shiver, then surely actually touching would do more. Prowl was afraid of what might happen if he touched Jazz. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

Jazz tilted his helm, and his face scrunched quizzically. "Is something bothering you about them? I can put them away."

"No! No, please don't. They deserve to be out, even for just this moment." Prowl's optics flickered to Jazz's before his gaze settled somewhere behind Jazz's helm. "I'm just concerned what may happen if I try."

"Oh." A hand touched Prowl's cheek and chin, turning Prowl's face until their gazes met again. "What do you fear might happen?"

"What if I triggered a sensory overload?" Prowl tugged his helm to turn away, but Jazz's gentle hold was enough to stop him. There were other concerns, other feelings, but he thought it was best if those were left unstated.

"My doorwings may be more sensitive than other winged frames, but I don't have sensory overload problems. I wouldn't have been a good Sentry if minor things could set me off. But you don't have to if you don't want to."

The Praxian did miss touching doorwings. Praxians touched each other’s doors often. To touch doorwings again, and to touch Jazz's would be... good. Unimaginably good. He feared it. He wanted it; perhaps even craved it.  

And he couldn't resist. Tentatively he reached out to the midway hinge, and brushed it with his index finger.

Jazz in-vented, and his body straightened, but he didn't pull away. Prowl took that as a positive sign, and explored a hinge and seam he'd never seen; it was invisible in alt mode. Jazz's doorwing quivered but he never pulled away.

Reflexively, Prowl fanned his own doorwings to convey his feelings and to sense what Jazz was feeling, but there was only dark emptiness. His doorwings sagged, or so his anchoring hinges told him. He pulled his hand away and his optics turned downcast. "I can't tell if I'm pushing too far. I can't sense you."

Carefully, Jazz pulled Prowl into his arms; the tactician felt his fuel pump quicken again at the closeness. "Let's lie back down. I promise you it'll all be okay soon."

"You mean both of us lie down?" Prowl's systems were already flushed from being in Jazz's embrace, and he was sure Jazz would noticed if they shared a berth.

"Both of us together, same berth. Let my doorwings be yours for the moment."

Offering one's doorwings to another was a gesture of intimacy to a Praxian. Prowl wondered if it was the same for a Sentry. He didn't ask. It was a question for another time. For now he wanted to enjoy what he had, a cherished chance to be with Jazz. He wrapped his arms around Jazz, and nodded into his friend's shoulder.

"Good." Jazz smiled. He guided Prowl back down onto the berth without pulling out of each other’s embrace. When he was done arranging them, Prowl rested on his back and Jazz on his side, curled into Prowl's frame. "Rest well, Prowl. Know that my wings are always here for you."


End file.
